Refugium
by LoneRiderSniper
Summary: During their journey of becoming outlaws, John and Tonto find themselves becoming something more. JohnxTonto Slash.
1. Chapter One: Steel

**A/N: ****First story. ^^ I hope it's okay since I'm trying to practice writing again. Please enjoy. **

**Refugium**

**Chapter One: Steel**

Once again, a harsh jolt rushed through the entirety of the speeding train before being cut off by the final cart. An uncomfortable but common occurrence caused by inconsistent steel belts, poor planning in design, and flat out human laziness. The Transcontinental Railroad. A publically referred "crowning achievement" of man privately understood as being a faulty, unsafe, unsanitary piece of worn out metal. Three steps forward, four steps back.

And yet, in some unexplainable way, to the travelers heading towards the quaint town of Colby, Texas, all this could be overlooked. Uneven tracks slamming against solid wheels were a small inconvenience for quick arrival, screeching gears were muffled by the chorus singing in their seats, and the almost painful jumping due to the speed at which they moved was ignored after a simple readjustment. All of this could be forgiven in the name of progress. Well, except when one was not an average passenger, but rather one of the four men who resided in the holding carriage.

"Nhh."

An aggravated grunt sounded as said carriage rattled against the wind. The despicable conductor jerking his head back and forth in an attempt to gather his fellow rider's attention. Two of these four men ignoring the criminal's annoying gestures while continuing their forced small talk. The weather, the family, headlines, and dreams of the future this train would surely bring to life. Anything that didn't lead to the two law breakers chained behind them.

Two allegedly dangerous criminals who had been riddled with rumors about their wrong-doings. Some true, some exaggerated by locals, news clippings, and one's own first impressions. Butch Cavendish was one of these men. A man who had been imprinted as a ruthless killer, a flesh eater, a thief, and a scummy piece of the earth. He had been riding the rails for some time now and would soon meet his end via hanging. Or so his fellow passenger's believed. However, since his past attempt to grab his captor's minds had failed, he had begun on an alternate plan. His original plan of twisting and tugging on a loose shard that was stuck in a floor board. Slicing and cutting his calloused fingertips as a wrinkled grin creased his lips. Twist, turn, twist, turn, twist.

Deep brown eyes watched this unusual phenomenon with a hesitant curiosity. Said eyes belonging to none other than the second criminal in this event. A silent-as-the-grave, war painted native American who had been targeted for being such. His constant chasing of the male he was chained to and his desperate actions had finally caused the law to apprehend him. However, even though his crimes were minimal by comparison, he too bad become a rumored "bad guy". A crazy, drunken thief, white killer. A list of untrue allegations unlike the charges brought upon his opposite. All of them true and he knew this first hand.

"Hnn?!"

The black and white stained male found himself grunting upon seeing the reward his enemy had just received. With the blood covered shard being tossed aside, the floor board had been lifted to reveal a loaded revolver. Six rounds waiting in the chambers as the madman pressed the barrel to his chapped lips. A silent motion being made for the Indian to remain quiet or face the tip of a bullet.

"Best not make a sound, Boy."

Angered hues could only watch as the killer buried the weapon in his coat pocket before being unshackled from the darker man. The two guards commanding the criminal to hurry and relieve himself as they would be reaching the station at any moment. Any moment.

However, "any moment" never arrived. No. For, in the following moments that came, the startled Indian witnessed two men meet death by bullets, a barrel that aimed for his own head, a pathetic white man fail at a rescue, his enemy escape, and then having to move both himself and his newly shackled accomplice to the roof of the never stopping train. A sudden and alarming sequence that drove him to take a moment of silence to comprehend them. Who was this stupid self proclaimed "Attorney"? Why had he allowed himself to be victimized by an outlaw? How could he allow an entire gang of men to escape? And why was he wearing a fitted black suit in the middle of the desert?

"We need to stop this train immediately!"

A weak tug to the metal shackles was issued as the native American rolled his eyes at his companion's attempt. A stronger pull and the two men were headed towards the edge of the moving scrap heap.

"Need to jump. End of track."

Muddy and ocean hues clashed upon Tonto's suggestion. The pale man instantly proclaiming that he had no intention of jumping off while his chained partner continued to chant his own plan.

"Are you insane?! I'm not getting off this train! What of the other passengers?!"

"Not attached to train. Must jump."

"What?"

The once held glare between the duo was momentarily broken. Brown orbs looking forward to see a rapidly approaching sand dune, accompanied by a hard rocky ground. Blue hues, on the other hand, gazed back at the stunned passengers who remained within the unattached cart near the station.

"How did the cart...?"

"We jump now."

A loud snort was the last thing the attorney could muster before his attached companion leapt from atop the roof. His unprepared stance forcing him off alongside the unfazed Indian. A booming crash, a loud thud, a groan of pain, and then silence. Unsettling quiet that brought the shaking attorney to cautiously lift his head from the cracking earth. The derailed train remained on its side against the ground, cheers and screams echoed in the distance, and the once binding shackles were broken.

"I-I'm alive?"

"...Jumped, stupid white man."


	2. Chapter Two: Masquerade

**Refugium**

**Chapter Two: Masquerade**

A heavy, dirty, almost icy wind had slowly made its way into an uncaring town. Creeping beneath aged floorboards as the sun would rise from the mountains, sprinkling bits of debris over vendor's handmade goods by noon, and smearing a cold burn over children's pale faces when nightfall began to settle in. Morning to midday, midday to darkness, night to morning. Day after day without a shred of notice.

No. No, something as minor as this natural happening was the least of the local's worries and fears. A much more physical embodiment had risen from their whispers, their dazed mourning, and their untamed nightmares. A bloodthirsty killer riding far into the outstretched landscape or perhaps lurking in a dark cavern near by. Butch Cavendish and his gang.

How long had they been on the run? Twenty years? Two months? A week? A day? An hour? Did it matter anymore? No. To the peaceful town of Colby it didn't and wouldn't until the group of criminals were hanged in the village. Hogtied and dragged behind the majestic horses of the Texas Rangers. Seven brave souls who had immediately begun their journey upon discovering the killer and his crew's devious escape. Riding off against the sunrise the morning after it had occurred and hadn't been back in almost two days. Seven of the bravest men the Texans had ever seen.

And one newly recruited young man who had certainly made a name for himself after latching on to his Indian prisoner's leg.

The Ranger leader's little brother and temporarily deputized lawman. A fresh out of law school district attorney who had more of a destructive entrance than the townsfolk had ever witnessed. John Reid, Texas Ranger, lawyer, and to one lone soul a "stupid white man".

'_Very, very stupid.'_

That same snowy breeze suddenly raced through the previously calm afternoon. Easily making its way from the dusty village, over the empty plains, through the cracked tumbleweeds, and into the painted canyon. Streaming past the haunted screams that whistled in the ridges and slapping long inky tresses into the native's face. The same chilled gust the white man ignored was all too familiar to the dark male. For, unlike those out-of-touch with nature, he knew this bitterness as a sign from the recently severed spirits. Seven strangers he had found strength to return to the earth after watching their untimely demise. Death had six and for two death had failed.

"Can not question this."

Long midnight shaded hair was brushed back from its wearer's eyes. Glazed over hues that slowly glanced up at a newly acquainted horse. A beautiful, colorless, pure, Spirit Horse. A beast he had worshiped for exposing its power to him and yet wondered if the animal had suffered some sort of dehydration. Perhaps exhaustion from traveling such a long distance? He wasn't sure how or even why the creature had chosen his prior chain mate as a Spirit Walker, but could only remind himself that the Father had his reasons.

"Eat."

A dirt and clay covered hand exposed a small amount of berries to the large beast only to be pulled back after said beast snorted in protest. A grunt the human returned before returning to his previous project. Molding and shaping a bullet from unneeded Texas Ranger badges. Unneeded and no longer useable by the departed.

'_Departed.'_

Once lethargic orbs now narrowed at the thought of this memory. The hectic and unrealistic happenings of the days preceding. His foe at arms length torn away by a traitor who spoke of himself as a "loyal" companion to Dan Reid and the other lawmen. A horrid drunk who had escaped with the rest of Butch's army. Army? More like frightened fools who would have easily forgotten him if it hadn't been for him retreating on horseback. The remaining hijackers had scattered like mice after Dan's brigade had forced them out of the train. Had they stopped to worry about their hideous leader? No.

"Left to die."

Silent words fell from dry lips as the Indian examined his finished bullet. His eyes and mind not syncing as he slipped back into those fresh memories. His lifelong enemy getting away, the strange suited man who had been chained to his limp wrist, the cart of innocent passengers being unhinged, the rangers, the jumping, all of it. Everything he thought of as a foggy blur and everything so significant. The brave heroes who managed to unlock the speeding steel vehicle, their attempts to assist the two who were momentarily trapped atop the train, and their aid upon catching both himself and the white man near the tipped heap. All a hazy thought.

Well, excluding the unusually important details, mostly concerning his sleeping accomplice. The man's fitted suit, his eyes full of fear and determination, the way he insisted upon bringing the Indian to justice despite any excuse, the way he carefully placed him in a cell but "unknowingly" tossed the keys on a nearby desk, and the way he tried to save his brother even though he could have freed himself.

'_Maybe horse not so stupid.'_

"Wh-Why am I covered in dirt?"

Dreaming pools suddenly blinked back the haunting past as to look to their awoken comrade. Hair askew, clothing torn, barefoot, and choking out bits of dirt. This was his "brave" and "noble" warrior who would help him.

"Buried you...Should have stayed that way."

"Th-then why am I alive?"

Azure coloration merely blinked at the tan male who, for some unknown reason, looked to the monotone horse for an answer. Human and animal having an odd sense of a silent agreement before the Indian shrugged. Was he tired or imagining things? Both?

"Don't ask the horse, please."

"He returned you, Spirit Walker. Chose you. Would have preferred someone else."

* * *

With the unsettling wind lost somewhere in the vast mesas and unexplored desert, a sensation of warmth filled the night air. Replacing the chills, fear, and regret with the comfort of a lone campfire. Wood scraps and rocks burning at the foundation while a hunted rabbit was carefully roasted above. Heated and turned, crisped and turned.

Perhaps to a man dying of starvation this was a feast fit for a king, but to the pale man who dared to not look away from the dancing flames, his stomach knotted at the thought. Not due to the rabbit his partner had snared, shaved, and proceeded to cook, but rather the visions he remembered so vividly. Even a grotesque looking corpse could not compare to those horrors. His brother honoring him as a ranger only to be taken away by a soulless evil, the betrayal of a man he had grown up alongside, the angry thought of what would become of his brother's widow and child, and the unbelievable tale the Indian told of him being "one who has been to the other side and returned".

"It's like a bad dream."

Dust coated hands were run through recently wetted hair. Their controller wiping away a layer of cold sweat from his brow before being smeared on his tattered pants. How could it be possible? Any of it? He had honestly witnessed true evil in this world. He had to accept that fact after his flesh and blood's heart was literally eaten out of his chest. It was pure craziness but true.

But how? How had he died and been brought back by a horse, a chant, some paint, and a rickety tower? He couldn't bring himself to understand that and the more Tonto had explained it the more confusing it became.

"Nightmare you can not wake up."

John finally looked away from the orange and red performers after his opposite spoke. Their tired, almost somber eyes meeting for a brief second before the native ended the stare down. His muddy eyes searching for one of his completed pieces before taking a small handful of items from his satchel.

"Man who killed your brother. Wendigo. You can kill with this."

Sky stained eyes widened as the male moved closer. His knees bending him down beside the sitting white man to show his latest craft. An expertly molded silver round with minimal imperfections. A bullet John recognized as being new after taking the still hot piece in his palm. Rolling and turning the artwork before pressing it back into the shorter man's hand.

"I don't believe in the "Wind Dingo" or taking a life with my own hands. I vow to bring him to justice and he'll be sentenced in a court of law."

A heavy sigh fell from Tonto's painted mouth before the bullet was dropped back into his leather pouch. Another groan following soon after when he readjusted his posture to sit before his pale friend.

"Man who betray you. Men who kill your brother. Believe you are dead." Calloused fingers were carefully skimmed through the remaining collection the Indian carried. His eyes quickly spotting the item he sought. "Best keep it that way."

And as though the spirits truly did exist and their was some cosmic power in life, a heavy cloud shadowed the full moon when Tonto lifted a leather mask. Bullet holes making out the shape of one's eyes along with two thick straps.

"Made from clothes. Best keep it that way."

"You want me to wear a mask?"

Hesitantly, the lone ranger took hold of the piece. Examining the dried bits of blood stained along the inner sides. His blood, his brother's, his comrade's. The brave imperfect men he once looked up to who could no longer take a stand. Their deaths and his.

And so, if for nothing or noone else's honor, he tied the leather around his head. Sharp blue eyes looking out from this ridiculous disguise in time to see his fellow man retrieve a familiar white hat. The faithful native gently pressing the garment atop its owner's head.

"If we ride we do it for justice."

An unsure and weary smile found a way across John's unshaved features. His new persona making a small attempt at giving some kind of confidence and hope. A strange sense of pride that he understood as being false was slowly shifting from being a mere ruse. No. His wanting to convince himself that he was more than words was being eased into an honest transformation when Tonto carefully pressed their foreheads together. Brown and blue eyes fusing rather than clashing. Both not feeling the need to explain his actions.

Instead the duo could just sit in silence and recognize that John was a trustworthy man and at the very least capable of handling their quest. Naturally, Tonto's buried concerns would remain, but for the sake of his friend he would try to encourage this newfound assurance. After all he knew they had been brought together for a reason.

"Justice is what I seek, Kemosahbee."

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. ^^**


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